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I will not wither in the safe and comfortable. Nor will she settle for slouching over gardens and dirty dishes, or being looked at as a girl who needs protecting from the world.
She will be part of it,
She’s falling from a window seat. Beside her, a cup of water crashes, breaking. A boy with deep onyx skin is there, dark eyes rounding in fear.
“Sometimes freedom comes at a price, and we don’t know till after,” comes his grave reply.
“You feel the power like heat. If it’s in your hands, you’re Witchist. If your neck, you’re Morphist. If your head, you’re Matterist. I’ll show you.”
Rivmere’s words ring of sarcasm. He’s no more the loyalist than Hart, which of course is why the Spellcaster chose him as an ally. Because it takes a village to hide someone like Ophelia Dannan.
“What is surviving if you aren’t living?”
“Magies?” “Those born with magic,”
But when you’re with me, you’re not someone else. You’re not a girl who needs coddling or saving, you hear me? I never lied about who you are.”
You’re the hero of your own story.”
“You’ve got something to prove. You need people who will let you prove it.
A way to break the system that’s breaking Magus.
Ophelia, who hears whispers from the dust. Rune, who wears hope on his sleeves. Hart, with cracks in his armor he thinks no one sees. And Falcon, a smugger with a prayer she’ll set them all free.
